Monday, February 4, 2013

Someone once described Baby as “the most un-self-conscious
child ever”. That’s pretty darn accurate.
Which means that I tend to be a most self-conscious mother. See Baby
requested a microphone for Christmas so that “all the neighbors can hear my beautiful singing.” She’s the kid who
dances and twirls in store aisle. And yes, I’ve told her to stop. But the ratio
of listening ability to bellowing ability is indeed inverse, so if she’s
singing, there is no listening occurring. You could continue to correct the
behavior, but then you are just talking to yourself, and then everyone thinks
you’re crazy, not just the judgmental old ladies who swear you’re in over your
head. Which I, for one, am. But I don’t need everyone telling me so. My
children, in general, lack the social awareness that keeps some kids from
spinning and dancing in the store aisles. Truly, it’s a ritual,

“What are you
supposed to be doing?”

“Holding onto
the cart”

“What are you
not supposed to be doing?”

“Spinning and
dancing.”

So just what is it
about sparkly brown eyes and curly brown hair that makes it physically
impossible to be quiet? She’s a little thing. Always been on the smaller side
of life. But hello world, hear her roar…..and that’s just her saying good
morning. What is harder to communicate
over paper are the ginormous hand gestures that accompany her rising timber.
It’s amazing what genetics will convey. Not one of my kids was born with an
innate ability to cook incredible foods, but they sure have all those Italian
mannerisms. So hurry on, maybe the crazy
singing child will follow you, probably not because she does march to the beat
of her own drum, one that makes it harder to follow her. And certainly it’s
harder for her to follow you. Probably shrieking "Poke her, poke her, poke
her in the face." I don't think I'll correct her.

It’s well known that children will find the worst things to
say and repeat those at the most inopportune moments. Without fail. Be
prepared. You could teach them only to sign….in Latin, and they’ll still belt
out PitBull lyrics, about being too drunk no less, while walking up the stairs
into church. I try hard not to actually listen to my daughter singing her odd
mix of a song about Princesses, Airplanes and Dreams. Judging from the artists
she's drawing from, I'm thinking that this belongs in the parenting hall of
FAIL. My personal parenting hall of fail is bursting.

Of course if I did
stop to actually listen I would hear something along the lines of “We were both
young when I first saw you, you're hot and you're cold I love spinning with
bubbles." Lyrical whiplash at its
finest, although that might be an abuse of the word “lyrical.” It’s hard not
being the mother who shouts “Would you please sing as if the world is actually
listening????” Even when your new lyrics are actually an improvement on the
original. That’s what’s so magical about kiddos, their ability to improve on
any situation. Which is why they have so much useful advice for those of us who
are trying to raise them. Advice that is freely shared, frequently. I’d pass
along their wisdom, but Baby just walked into the room bellowing “I like big
pants.”

I guess that's the homeschooler's version of Sir Mix-A-Lot.
And they say homeschoolers are sheltered.